


Honey And Vinegar

by firstbornking



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Abuse, Creampie, Dirty Talk, Emotional Manipulation, I'm Going to Hell, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Incest, M/M, Sexual Coercion, Swearing, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 19:22:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7186913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstbornking/pseuds/firstbornking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ma·nip·u·late</p><p>1. handle or control (a tool, mechanism, etc.), typically in a skillful manner.<br/>2. control or influence (a person or situation) cleverly, unfairly, or unscrupulously.</p><p>In which Rick and Morty take another spin on the cycle of abuse, Rick is shameless and Morty is broken down one 'I love you' at a time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honey And Vinegar

Morty woke to his alarm kindly letting him know it was time to get up if he wanted to make it to school today. He fumbled to shut it off and threw himself to his feet, knowing if he lied there and tried to bargain for ‘just ten more minutes’ he’d wake up to the school bus blaring its horn before speeding off, and he’d have to ask his dad to drive him to school for the third time this week. He did not want to hear another lecture about how high concept sci-fi rigamarole and his mom’s insecurities about her father were ruining his life, so he refused to look back at his bed and went about making himself presentable.

After getting some decent clothes on, he stared at the empty spot by his door where he always left his old pair of sneakers. He scratched the back of his head in exhausted confusion before remembering the porcupine-like creatures that spat thick, neon green acid all over his feet last night. His shoes had been destroyed and if he hadn’t ripped them off along with his socks, his feet would have been, too.

As it happened, even with how fast he moved, the tops of his feet had been seared raw, blisters forming before his eyes as he screamed for Rick to help him. Rick had dragged him back to the ship and slathered some sort of regenerative jelly on his burning feet, all while reassuring him that, “It’s not that bad, you whiny - _erugh_ \- bitch! Pipe the fuck down, you-you-you wanna attract more of the little bastards? They’re drawn to waterworks, M-Morty, so if you want to call them over here to fubar the fucking ship, then by - _urrp_ \- by all means, k-keep up the sniveling, you’re doing great.”

The jelly knit his skin back together and left his feet cool and tingly, like after brushing with mint toothpaste. He looked at his socked feet now and supposed that Rick was right, as usual; it hadn’t been that bad. But he was still out his favorite pair of sneakers.

He sighed and put on a new pair that needed breaking in. He’d get over it. Those old sneakers had been falling apart anyway.

He trudged down the stairs and into the living room to stand in front of the TV for a few minutes while he woke up the rest of the way. The weather channel informed him that a thunderstorm was expected in the early afternoon and that the sun wasn’t going to show her face for a few days. Wonderful.

“Good morning, sweetie,” Beth said as she walked in from the kitchen with a steaming cup of coffee. She had on her rocking horse print scrubs, lines neat and crisp. Her hair was up in a high ponytail and her face was fresh and bright, with hints of mascara and pink lipstick.

“Morning, mom. L-looks like someone slept well,” Morty said, rocking up onto his toes and stretching his arms above his head. He gave a jaw-cracking yawn that shook his whole body and crossed his arms over his chest when it ended.

“I did, thank you,” his mom put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes at him, “and it looks like someone barely slept at all. Again.”

“Oh, well, y’know…” he shrugged helplessly. “That obvious, huh?”

Beth wavered for a second between concern and disapproval, but concern easily won out and she stepped forward to smooth her son’s hair back from where it curled over his forehead. “Up late, I take it?”

Morty knew what that question really meant. ‘My dad kept you out till the crack of dawn on some spacetime shenanigans again last night?’ But she wouldn’t ask that. Rick wasn’t supposed to keep him out past midnight, but that rule only applied if they made it too obvious for Beth to ignore, and when it came to her dad, she was well practiced at looking the other way.

Morty wondered what she would do if he told her the truth, about the dimension Rick took him to last night, about the acid-spitting porcupine monsters that destroyed his old sneakers and nearly turned his feet into nothing but charred bone.

… Yeah, he didn’t have to be as smart as his grandpa to know that was a bad idea.

He nodded his head in solemn agreement and his mom sighed in that long suffering but loving way she was so good at.

“You have to sleep, Morty. How do you expect to learn anything at school if you’re always exhausted in class? Promise me you’ll rest when you get home, okay? I don’t care about chores for today; you need to catch up on your sleep.”

“Yes, ma’am. I-I’ll try.”

She gave him a stern, “I mean it, mister,” before letting up with a smile and a sip of her coffee. When she turned around to look at the TV, however, her smile quickly fell back into a frown. “Oh, that doesn’t look good. You’re gonna need your raincoat, sweetie.”

“What, for the storm? I’m sure it won’t be that bad, mom.”

She didn’t take her eyes off the TV as she said, “And I’m sure it will be. Where’s your coat?”

Oh, there was no arguing with that tone. Dang. He scuffed his foot over the edge of the rug and mumbled, “It’s, um, it’s… it’s in Rick’s ship.”

“What was that?”

He straightened up and steadied his voice. “It’s in Rick’s ship. With Rick. He fell asleep there.” The ‘blackout drunk a few hours ago’ part went unsaid but not unheard, he knew, because his mom went into the kitchen and came back with a bottle of water to press into his hands.

“Give this to my dad and get your coat, alright?”

He took the water bottle, but hesitation showed on his face. His mom gave him a bracing smile and said, “It’ll be okay. He’ll understand. I’m sure he won’t snap at you or anything.”

Morty could tell there was no way to talk himself out of waking up his ornery and hungover grandpa at half past seven in the morning, so he dragged his feet towards the garage and mumbled under his breath, “And I’m sure he will.”

Rick was in exactly the same position Morty remembered him collapsing into as soon as he parked the ship (crooked and half crushing the table of gadgets into the wall) in the garage, slumped over the right arm of the driver’s seat in a way only the truly hammered can manage. Morty tiptoed up to the driver’s side and took a deep breath before tapping on the glass. “R-Rick? Hey, Rick?”

Rick groaned and lifted his arms to clutch his head. Morty held still as his grandpa heaved himself upright in his chair to glower blearily at him. After a beat of silence, Rick twirled his hand in a circle, which Morty took as a signal to explain why he was bothering him so early. He pointed at his raincoat in the passenger seat, “I-I need that coat. There’s a storm com- on - on the way,” he held up the water bottle, “and mom wanted me to give this to you.”

Rick took a minute to process this, looking from Morty to the bottle to the raincoat, before his face cleared into an understanding scowl and he flipped the switch that released the ship’s canopy. Morty offered the water bottle and Rick snatched it, tore the top off and drained over half of it in one go.

Rick took a few steadying breaths and set the water bottle down, ran a hand over his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. Morty made to walk around to the other side of the ship and gather his coat, assuming Rick wanted him gone so he could get back to sleep, but Rick’s arm shot out to grab his upper arm without looking up. Morty flinched hard, but if Rick noticed he didn’t care.

“You - you goin’ to school, then, Morty?”

His voice was rough but even, his grip tight but sure, and with no facial expression to go by Morty couldn’t tell if saying yes was going to get him berated or not. Rick had made it clear what he thought of public school, and while he accepted Beth and Jerry’s insistence that Morty keep going, he would still sometimes remind Morty how he felt about the massive waste of time that was America’s glorious education system. It was never pleasant.

Rick fingers flexed once and Morty stuttered out, “Y-y-yeah, Rick, why?” before he could think anything else. Rick let go and moved his hand to rest on Morty’s shoulder, tips of his fingers lightly brushing over the skin of his neck. Morty shuddered and Rick side eyed him, face unreadable.

“Come to my room when you get home, Morty.”

Morty’s stomach flipped, made a mad dash for his feet and he gulped to try and settle it down. He clutched at his elbow with his opposite hand and looked anywhere but his grandfather.

“Oh, Rick, I don’t know - I’m really - really tired.”

Rick’s hand formed a loose collar around his neck and Morty tilted his chin up high, exposed the line of his throat reflexively.

“Week’s up, Morty. TGIF.”

Rick spoke slowly, punctuated each letter in the acronym with a light tap from his forefinger to Morty’s windpipe. Morty held still, focused on his breathing.

“Already? Are-are you sure it’s not Thursday?”

“Oh, it’s Friday, alright. I’ve been counting.”

Right. Of course he had.

There was nothing else to say, then.

“... I’ll be there, Rick.”

Rick would have to let him sleep afterwards. He just had to. He spared a thought of apology for his mom and shuffled his feet until Rick let go of his neck, and then bolted for his raincoat. He had it half shrugged on and was nearly out the garage door when he froze at Rick saying his name again.

“Morty.”

“Huh?”

“... Homework is no excuse.”

Morty looked down at his shiny new sneakers. He missed his old ones. “I know.”

“Good.”

It would pass. He’d get used to this new pair. “Okay. I’ll, um, I’ll see you - soon.”

Rick waved him away. Morty pulled his coat the rest of the way on and went to stand in front of the house for the bus. Going by the heavy gray clouds looming in the north, it looked like his mom was right about him needing it.

…

School was absolute torture. He spent the whole day in that strange place between dozing off at his desk and staring zombie-like at the front of the classroom, and when he wasn’t doing one of those he was enjoying some light hyperventilation and heart palpitations, knowing what Rick wanted with him after school.

Had it really been a week? It couldn’t already be Friday again, right? Hopping off the bus, he pulled his rain coat up around his neck against the pouring rain and hurried inside the house. Once through the door, he set his coat down in the entrance and checked his phone for the umpteenth time, just for it to betray him and tell him that it was, indeed, Friday. His birthday week was up. Rick wasn’t going to wait anymore.

There was nothing for it. He wanted to say at least he had gotten a week off, but Rick had run him so ragged as an assistant all week long that his body took no consolation in that lie. And a lie it was; Rick had stuck to the letter of his promise, but at the same time had made sure Morty would regret asking him to make the promise in the first place.

He stopped by the kitchen sink to get a drink of water and work up the wherewithal to deal with what was about to happen. He’d just count backwards from ten, square up his shoulders and… go have a good cry under his bed's blankets and sleep until the sun came up tomorrow. He took a few gulps of water, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and groaned. That last part was not an option.

“Alright, alright. Just… no big deal. It’ll be over before you know it,” he whispered to himself. “Not like it’ll be anything new.”

He walked over to the door underneath the staircase, which led to a small storage room they had converted into a bedroom for Rick when he moved in. Morty took one deep breath and raised his hand to knock, Rick’s name on the tip of his tongue -

“Hey, Morty.”

\- turned into a shriek when Rick set a hand on the small of his back and leaned in close to speak directly into his ear.

Clutching his chest, he turned to glare at Rick, who was struggling to stand upright he was laughing so hard. “You are so - such a jerk, Rick!”

Rick nodded in agreement and shoved him aside to open his door and walk in. He looked back at Morty, tilting his head in invitation, and Morty’s indignation bled out through his feet.

Oh.

Oh, yeah.

Rick’s room bordered on claustrophobic, with only enough space for an army green cot with a six inch TV at its foot, a circular table and a few stacks of cardboard boxes. It was even worse when he shut the door, but it was saved from unbearability by all the blueprints, pictures and diagrams tacked to the walls. He stood in the center of the walkway and stared at Rick’s cramped mathematical prose, hand drawn pictures of Mr. Meeseeks and Abradolf Lincler and various doomsday weapons, all of the red and blue strings making mysterious connections he didn’t understand.

Rick sat down on his cot with a comfortable sigh and Morty jumped out of his daze; Rick rolled his eyes at his nervousness and leaned forward to pull Morty into his lap by the front of his shirt. Morty nearly tripped over his own feet, but Rick caught him under the arms and threw him bridal style over his legs, leaving Morty to grip his grandpa’s shoulders if he didn’t want to fall and hit the floor. Before he could so much as gasp, Rick was kissing him like he had a point to prove, nipping his lower lip, licking the backs of his molars and the roof of his mouth, hands trespassing up under his shirt to lie warm on his back.

Well, at least Rick had brushed his teeth. Now that was a nearly unheard of blessing.

Morty responded gently, wrapping his arms around the back of Rick’s neck and pressing into the line of his chest. He was a sucker for kissing (that didn’t make him gag on alien alcohol fumes) so he decided he might as well enjoy it while it lasted.

Or well, he would have, if he hadn’t had to break off to bury a yawn in Rick’s chest.

Rick laughed and trailed his hands under Morty’s shirt to rub cool circles into his back. “Wow, you - you tired, Morty? I think that one shook the room.”

Morty glared at him as soon as his yawn passed, but the effect was ruined by the tears pricking the corners of his eyes (and by the fact that his grandpa thought he was about as intimidating as a parking ticket). “Yeah, Rick, I’m exhausted. D’you know why?”

“Oooh, rhetorical questioning. Sassy suits you, but I think it would work better if you didn’t look like you were about to pass out on my lap,” Rick shimmied his hips so Morty had to redouble his hold on his shoulders if he wanted to keep balance.

“You’re terrible, Rick! You’re - you’re -”

“Like Hitler but at least Hitler cared about Germany, yadda yadda, whatever, heard it all before. You asked me to lay off the, how did you put it?” Rick shoved the hand under Morty’s shirt down beneath the waistband of his underwear and squeezed his ass until Morty squirmed, face pinking. “Yeah, ‘all the perverted shit’ for a week. Far be it from me to deny you the one birthday present you wanted from me -” Rick slipped his fingers in between Morty’s cheeks to brush over his rim and Morty pressed his face into Rick’s neck to muffle a whine, “- but I had to keep you busy some other way in the meantime.”

“You m-mean, you had to punish me for asking you to respect my - ahh! - my boundaries for - for any amount of time?”

“Observant, aren’t we? All part - _urrp_ \- part of the master plan, M-Morty. Now get your shoes off.”

“Master pl-? Oh - oh, no, no, no,” Morty’s eyes widened and Rick chuckled, reaching his free hand in between them to unbutton Morty’s pants. “Is this one of those - this is one of those association things, isn’t it?” Morty asked sullenly, even as he moved to give Rick the space he needed to start properly fondling him.

“‘Association thing’? What the hell is that, Morty?”

“You know, where you - uhn, ah - Don’t play dumb, Rick! You know what you’re doing - this is more of that psychological - m-m-manipulation stuff, you -”

“Oh, wooow, those are some big words, Morty,” Rick tongued Morty’s ear, “You sure you know what you’re - _eugh_ \- talking about?”

Morty pushed himself back to frown up at Rick and snapped, “Oh my god, Rick! I am so _tired_ of this!”

“Oooh, you’re tired? Why didn’t you say?” Rick looked Morty dead in the eyes, cat who got the canary smug, “I know something that’ll help you sleep.” He leaned his chin on Morty’s shoulder, kissed his cheek, his jaw, and whispered, “First step is taking off your shoes.”

Morty bit back a frustrated wail and would have crossed his arms in a huff if he could have spared his hands, but they were occupied holding onto his grandfather’s lab coat so he didn’t fall face first into the floor while Rick worked his jeans down around his thighs. “Fine, alright, fine, let me - I can’t just kick them off, I have to untie them, they’re new - thanks to you and your - those acid spitting _things_ , you jerk.”

Rick picked Morty up and dropped him next to him on the cot, grinning like Morty’s irritable acquiescence was the funniest thing he’d seen in days. “J-just get your damn clothes off so I can fuck you til you pass out. Then we’ll see how well my - my ‘psychological manipulation association thing’ is working out.” He reached over his circular side table and grabbed an unmarked glass jar half filled with white cream and Morty’s blush creeped down his chest.

“My, um, my shirt too?” Morty asked after he set his shoes, pants and underwear on the floor, leaving him to sit bareassed on the cot while he pulled at the hem of the garment in indecision. No matter how many times it had happened, there was something especially embarrassing about being completely naked while Rick had all his clothes on, even his lab coat. Sometimes Rick let him stay mostly dressed, too, but that had never happened in this room - only on other planets when Rick dragged him into a closet or bathroom stall for a quickie.

Rick unscrewed the jar’s lid and used two fingers to scoop out a generous amount before setting it back down and giving Morty an annoyed look. “Yes, _all_ your clothes. Take it off and lie down on your front - jeez, do you need ever- _urrp_ -ything spelled out for you?”

Right, should have known that was a given. Morty threw his shirt in with the rest of his clothes and settled down holding Rick’s pillow underneath his chest. This position was familiar, at least. This was how they usually had sex, him on all fours, stark naked while Rick drove into him from behind, fully dressed except for his pants lowered just enough to free his cock.

Especially embarrassing. Like there was anything not especially embarrassing about his grandpa liking to fuck him stupid on a regular basis. What did it matter that Rick liked to make their power imbalance as obvious as he could? If anything, it was a small mercy that Rick always took him from behind and kept his own clothes on; it made it all the easier to close his eyes and distance himself. Sure, it’s not like he could imagine that it was Jessica from math class reaming him in the ass, but it was better than accidentally making eye contact with his grandpa while he came clenching around his cock.

… Oh, dear god, he was so fucked up. That was probably one of the most fucked up thoughts it was possible for a human being to have. Definitely in the top ten.

Morty startled when Rick’s hand spread over his lower back - it was dry, so his left one. “Y’know, you - you begged the week off, but you didn’t say - specify if I’m allowed to make up for lost time. You reeeally need to work on your negotiation skills.” Rick’s left hand pulled his ass open and with the other, the greased one, straightaway pressed two fingers all the way in - Morty choked on an inhale and buried his face in the pillow, arms bracketing his head, fists clenching. “What’s to stop me from fucking you twice as often for a week, n-now I’ve - _eugh_ \- followed through with my end of-of your stupid little birthday wish?”

“You-you-you didn’t follow th-through - _ah_!- you didn’t give me a - _uhh_ \- a break at all, Rick!”

“A break from _this_ -” Rick thrust in a third finger alongside the other two, pushed in deep and pressed up, held them there, too firm, Morty pushed down but there was no room, no getting away, “-was all you asked for, and that’s what I gave you. Or, stopped giving you - fuckin’ waste.” Rick’s left hand swatted his asscheek one good time and Morty smothered a yelp into the pillow.

Rick soothed back over the red mark with his thumb and went on. “A week, Morty, really? I thought you’d at le- _eeurgh_ -ast try for a month and I’d talk you down by half, but you started out with ‘R-Rick, please, just a week,’” Rick put on a shaky, pleading voice, mocking Morty and Morty felt the saltwater sting of tears burning to escape, even as he moaned and pivoted his hips down and back, down and back. “‘P-p-please, I just n-need a break.’ I could have talked you down to three days and you’d have said ‘Yes, of-of-of course, Rick, thank you Rick.’”

Morty hugged the pillow tight to himself and tried to work out how to breathe without sobbing - he felt it, the first deep-chested sob coiling up in his lungs, so much quicker than usual. He hated it when Rick made fun of his voice, played up his stutter and put on a tremulous whine; he hated that Rick’s impersonation of him, while not how he usually spoke, was a dead ringer for how he sounded when Rick was ten inches inside him. Most of all, he hated that Rick was _right_ and they both knew it.

“You looked so - _urrp_ \- pitiful I didn’t have the h-heart to Jew you down - the one thing you wanted for-for-for your damn birthday. Now here - here we are on the other end of the bargain, baby,” Rick swung his legs up to kneel in between Morty’s - Morty quickly spread his legs as wide as he could without falling half off the cot. He knew from experience Rick would pinch his inner thighs until he did if he kept them closed.

“What do you think, M-Morty - should I double up for a week? Even this shit back up?” Rick thrusted slowly, pulled Morty’s ass open wide to work in his pinky with the rest of his fingers and Morty reflexively pushed his ass up with a little gasp. He could hear Rick’s shit-eating grin when he said, “I could, y’know. I scored some angel dust off of those Traflokians last night. Wanna get high and-and start paying me back, Morty?”

“Oh, noo- _ah_ , Rick! No! No drugs! Why w-w-would you even ask that?” Morty threw his face into the crook of his elbow, eyes shut tight. Why was it always so easy for Rick to make him cry? “Why are - why are you being so mean? I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Mean?” Rick asked, drove his hand in past the knuckles - Morty stilled when he felt Rick’s thumb press against his taut rim - bent cozy over Morty’s back to speak into his ear, “If I got blasted on glip-glop rocket fuel and dryfucked you like a ragdoll, M-Morty, that would be ‘mean’. If I - if I shot you up with a cap of pep-dexy and worked you over til you were - _urrp_ \- were desperate - begging me to fuck you, that would be ‘mean’, Morty.” Rick planted a few open-mouthed kisses on his neck and Morty shivered at the cool smear of drool from his mouth, the hot ghost of his breath ruffling his hair. Morty tried not to imagine Rick doing those things, but it was impossible - his heart raced as his mind flooded him with images of needles getting checked for air bubbles, lines of white powder cut by credit cards, Rick’s pupils blown wide as he fucked into him without mercy -

_“- just - just - just do this for grandpa, baby, shh, shh - it’ll feel good if you - just relax. Fuck, fuck - damn, relax, Morty! You’re just - making it harder for yourself - ease up on me, here, let me - fuck, Morty! You want a fucking Valium or some shit? Settle the - calm the - calm down or I will make you -”_

“R-R-Rick, no, please, no - I don’t, I c-can’t -” panic clawed his throat to ribbons, drained the color from his face and numbed his fingertips so he felt nothing when they wrenched at the sheet. He tensed up hard, groaned when it made him clench around Rick’s hand. “I-I’m sorry, I said - said that - just please don’t, please don’t - Rick, no, _no_ -”

“Hey, whoa, calm down, calm down, baby,” Rick flipped the switch to soothing, kissed his ear, pet up and down his back, pitched his voice low and gentle. “I said it _would_ be mean - I’m not gonna - I won’t do it, Morty. Shh, shh. It’s okay, settle down.” Rick kneaded Morty’s hip, encouraging him to relax with little shushes, light touches. “There you go, loosen up for grandpa, come on.”

Morty felt his muscles start to relax, his breathing begin to even back out and not for the first time, Morty wondered if his grandpa knew how to hypnotize him, if that was what he was doing right now. Something about his tone was completely disarming and everything about it worked, whether Morty wanted it to or not. “Good boy, shh, yeah, that’s it. You - I won’t really - I wouldn’t hurt you like that, Morty. I was saying I - wasn’t that mean.”

“... Aren’t y-you, though?” Morty asked the scribbled notes on the wall, resigned to his inability to resist his grandpa’s manipulation beyond calling it out. “I don’t know what else to call you, besides mean. Well, p-petty, and the - the absolute worst at taking no for an answer, even for a week.”

Rick slid his hand out and Morty sighed, squeezed his legs together at the first stirrings of guilty pleasure in the pit of his stomach, the warm rush of blood to his cock. The contrast between half of Rick’s hand and nothing left him too aware of the emptiness, that pleasant overstretched ache and he couldn’t banish the thought of how good he knew it felt to be filled, pinned down and - he shuddered in a breath. God help him, he was fucking shameful. He was supposed to be upset but here he was, reacting like a well trained Pavlovian dog to his grandpa’s hands and voice. He wanted to believe that his body was just unscrupulous, but couldn’t help the fear that the problem was much deeper - with his mind, his character, himself. That he was just plain fucked up.

Rick sat up, wiped his hand on his lab coat, let Morty’s words hang in the air for a moment before he said, “Sounds like you - you got me pegged, Morty.”

Now that word choice was just not fair. How could Rick say that with a straight face? For a second, Morty thought he might vomit, his stomach churning and seizing, before it transformed unexpectedly into uncontrollable giggles and a breathless, “Yeah, I’ve got _you_ pegged.”

This was not funny. This was the diametric opposite of funny. Why was he laughing?

Rick frowned, moved to let Morty’s left leg rejoin his right, pushed on Morty’s side until Morty rolled onto his back. He thumbed away the tear tracks streaking down Morty’s face - wait, was he crying? When did that start? Morty hadn't felt the tears start through his laughter, but he felt the wetness on his cheeks now that Rick had touched it. He wiped at his face with balled fists even as he struggled to stop convulsing with hysterical giggles.      

“Oh, baby,” Rick whispered, leaned down to kiss him chaste. “I’m sorry I scared you. That’s not what I wanted.”

This must be what whiplash felt like. Rick was problem and solution, torment and comfort, confusion and reassurance all at once. He pressed up, kissed back for half a second before flopping back into the pillow beneath his head. “W-well, you did. Scare me. Jerk move, bringing up - up drugs, Rick.”

“I know. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Wow, you are really good at - at taking the wind outta my sails, Rick,” Morty bit his lip on another snicker, “I can’t even be angry now - you’re - you’re backpedaling too hard.”

Rick stood up and ran a hand through his hair, shrugged off his coat to let it fall to the floor with Morty’s clothes. “You never got angry, Morty. You just - you just got hurt. If I’m backpedaling, it’s because I went too far.”

Morty’s laughter died off and he blinked, eyes following Rick with a sort of off guard interest as the man pulled his blue sweater and wife-beater over his head. “You hurt me all the time, Rick. What’s different this time?”

Rick sat back down and leaned over to untie his shoes, kicked them off and undid his belt to slide his pants off - and like that, he was naked, too. “It’s not what I wanted.”

“What you - what did you want, then? Why are you-”

But then Rick was putting his hands on Morty’s knees, opening them wide to kneel back in between, pulling Morty’s thighs on top of his and pressing forward until their cocks were brushing - “ _Oh_ ,” Morty closed his eyes, shuffled his feet for purchase on the cot, couldn’t find a grip - “O- _oh_!”

“ _This_ ,” Rick answered, voice liquor rough and adamant and Morty’s cock filled out under the weight of it even as his mind struggled to process what was happening. Rick grabbed him under the knees and hoisted him higher, angled him so their cocks slid against each other with each thrust - Rick was hard and wiry and so much stronger than he looked. Electricity sparked wherever their skin touched and Morty couldn’t handle this, Rick wasn’t even inside him and it was already too much - he threw his arm over his face, tried to turn away -

“Stop that, Morty,” Rick dropped his upper body to crowd Morty further into the cot, chests flush together, “C’mon, baby, look at me, look at me.”

“Rick, please - this is - you don’t usually - we haven’t ever - _oooh_!”

Rick caught him by the small of his back with both hands and ground down full force, groaned right into Morty’s ear. “This is what I want. Let me - fuck, Morty, let me see you. Let me show you - I’ll make it good, baby, please.”

Rick was - Rick was nearly begging. Morty’s head swam, fished up images of his hand shot clean through with a laser pistol, Rick frowning at the smoking gun; the Microverse that powered the spaceship, Rick bashing Zeep’s head in with a rock; Rick standing over him as he wailed over his own broken legs and he couldn’t do it, no, he _couldn’t_ \- but along with those memories came Rick eating ice cream with him and Summer; healing his legs with a serum that made him feel wonderful; stopping up the hole in his hand with a fluorescent gel that shimmered and connected to the surrounding tissue, leaving no trace of the wound - “ _It’s no big deal to patch up, Morty, see?_ ”

Rick had never done it like this before - never face to face, never completely naked, never asked him like this. It was always something that he took. Morty slid his arm over to cover his eyes with the palm of his hand.

“Can I - can I say no?” Morty’s voice broke over every word.

There was a beat where Rick stilled, his grip on Morty’s lower back tensed, and in that moment of silence they both heard the front door slam. Morty’s breath went shallow at the thought of his mom overhearing them from the living room, or his dad knocking on Rick’s door to ask where he was - he tried to curl in on himself but only ended up pushing into Rick, tightening his thighs around him. Rick pushed back, dug in his fingers like hooks.

“You can say no to looking at me.”

Rick sounded way too sober and a tremor ran through Morty. That was the closest to a direct admission he had ever heard that Rick wouldn’t let him say no to sex. Morty felt the nascent urge to refuse Rick completely, to try to push him off, to struggle and force Rick to brace his forearm over his throat to hold him still, to hold him down and clamp a hand over his mouth, to match the Hollywood picture of violent rape - but fear and love and exhaustion trampled that thought into dust before it even fully formed. He sighed shakily and made up his mind.

“Promise you’ll make it good?” Morty whispered.

Rick relaxed his over-tight grip and rubbed circles into the abused flesh, kissed underneath his chin, rocked up and down again. “Yeah, yeah, you know I will.”

“Promise.”

“ _Fuck_ , I promise, baby.”

“You have to let me sleep - _ah_ \- as much as I-I need for a few days, Rick.”

“Yeah, sure, I will,” Rick’s hands moved to stroke over the top of his ass. “I promise, Morty - give you a real break after this, c’mon, let me take care of you.”

“Promise you - _uhhhn_ \- you won’t do those mean things you said?”

“I swear I’d never - I don’t want to hurt you like that, Morty. I never want this to hurt.”

Because making him take pills that would shut down his kidneys was fine, but making sex horrifically painful was right out. Morty knew Rick was a bullshitter eight days a week, but he didn't doubt Rick on this point. Morty would never understand his grandfather's principles (or lack thereof), but he was thankful this was one scruple Rick abided. Only one more request.     

“... Say - say sorry again.”

Rick picked Morty up by his bottom and pulled them into each other, mouthed at one of Morty’s nippes until it perked up, moved to the other and grinned around it when Morty shivered and gasped. He slipped his fingers into the crevice of Morty’s ass to pull the cheeks apart - Morty was still slick down there and Rick’s fingers slid easily just inside his rim. “I’m sorry, baby. Let me apologize.”

Morty huffed, hearing the smirk in Rick’s voice, but gave it up and lowered his hand. Rick’s smirk sure enough was there, but he toned it down into a smile when Morty met his eyes.

“There’s my boy.”

Morty reached both hands up to touch his grandpa’s shoulders, bare and ashen and lean, glanced his fingers inwards to ghost over the collarbone, feel how it rose and dipped down into the sinews of Rick’s upper chest. This was different - not just Rick’s nakedness, not just the position - Morty could sense a difference in the mood that set this apart from all the times before. Rick seemed - grateful wasn’t a word that Morty associated with his grandpa, but no other word came to mind.

Rick pushed the index and middle fingers of both his hands inside Morty’s ass and Morty gave a labored pant. “There we go - show me your face, Morty,” Rick bore down with his hips, trapping their cocks against their stomachs and grinding until the friction was almost unbearable - Morty tossed his head back and squirmed, but up rubbed his cock harder against Rick’s and down drove Rick’s fingers deeper into him.

“R-Ri- _ah_! Rick, oh, oh, _ahn_ -” Morty couldn’t form words, hot and dizzy and closed in - he could feel Rick all over him, pinning him, opening him - he pulled on Rick’s shoulders, guided him down into a kiss and Morty whimpered into his mouth. Rick kissed thoroughly, smacking and sloppy wet and it was good - god, it was good in a way Morty couldn’t make sense of.

Rick removed his right hand and groped blindly on the table for the jar of lube. He must have left the top off, because when he brought his hand back his fingers were coated with cream; he slicked up his cock and angled it to slide up against his left hand, still prodding two fingers inside Morty’s ass. Morty opened his legs wider, wrapped his arms around Rick’s neck - there were faint voices coming from the living room, a distant reminder that he had to stay quiet. Rick eased into lingering pecks before removing his left hand and leaning back just enough to adjust his cock, to line it up with Morty’s hole. Morty choked on his breath, fought the urge to keen, started to clench his eyes shut against the overwhelming sensations -

“No, baby, look at me, look - _look at me_.”

There was no way to ignore that tone, dark and insistent, hewn from need. When Morty knuckled under and looked up, he was immediately reminded of the wild blue gleam Rick's eyes took on after he snorted collaxion crystals, the manic fireworks that lit them up after he popped ecstasy - but then Rick was staring down at him unflinchingly as he held Morty's hips and pushed his cock in, in, _in_ \- Morty held his breath, couldn’t breathe - it was always too much but Rick always made himself _fit_ and Rick’s _face_ when he did, god. It was a bliss Morty could only compare to a drunken stupor, except he had seen Rick at every stage of inebriation, from tipsy to smashed, and he had never seen Rick look so - so - was there a word for it? Like _this_ was the best drug he had ever experienced, like it was something transcendent.

Like nothing else could compare.  

Rick encouraged him to curl up into the intrusion, press down into it. He guided him with sure hands until he was flush, seated fully inside - teetering on the good side too much, and it was too much, it really, really was because Rick was _euphoric_ , eyes half lidded, a dusky red lining his cheekbones, drool sliding over his lower lip as he groaned lowly. It sent heat through Morty’s whole body, a blush all the way down to the core of him.

Morty wondered what Rick saw in his face.

“Fuuuck, damn - ahhh,” Rick sighed out, held himself still but dragged Morty farther onto his lap by the hips so Morty’s knees tilted up behind his shoulders. “Breathe, sweetie, breathe for me.”

Morty could only keep his muscles strained for a few seconds before he exhaled all of his tension and Rick squeezed his hips tight and - “ _Ahhn_ \- ah, ah, _Rick_!” - there it was, the familiar lightning pleasure that raced up his spine and robbed him of all his faculties, left him tearing up and writhing, delirious on the barrage of stimulation. Rick was caressing his back, Rick was working his hips in tight little circles, Rick was there in his ear -

“So good - so good for grandpa, Morty, my good boy. You’re a fuckin’ treasure, goddamn perfect around me - there you go, rock back, move with me - yeah, yeah, just like that - taking it so well, opening up for me, baby -”

It was nothing new for Morty to listen to Rick’s dirty sweet talk as he got fucked; Rick rarely stayed quiet during sex and if he did it was a bad sign. What _was_ new was seeing his face as he mumbled his running commentary of lewd endearments and obscene compliments. Rick looked transported, like he had just taken a hit of something so strong it tested his legendary tolerance and the pleasure of it was so heady he couldn’t keep his mouth shut, had to whisper and ramble on about it. It was hard to believe he had such an effect on his habitually malcontent grandpa, left Morty conflicted with embarrassment and pride, but he couldn’t scrutinize that too much because Rick was still talking, starting to thrust in earnest and all he could manage was, “Oh, oh, _ooh_.”

“What you do to me, Morty. You’re so fucking _cute_ \- it’s stupid - and you don’t even know - drive me up a fuckin’ wall. Had me thinking about this all week - jacked off every night thinking about filling up your sweet little ass, fuck, _just_ like this, baby -”

Morty thought it was impossible for him to blush harder. He was wrong. Kept on being wrong, because Rick kept on talking. He kept his voice down so it didn’t carry past his room, but it was plenty loud for Morty to catch every single word. Rick told him he was precious and sweet, swore over how amazing he felt, encouraged him to move with him, called him his baby and his good boy, said his name over and over again - Morty had heard it all before, but it had been distant words, sounds with little meaning then. Now, looking up at his grandpa’s face, he couldn’t deny the sincere fondness, the intense desire he saw there - how much Rick enjoyed saying every word of it - how much Rick enjoyed him like this.

“Wrap your legs around me, Morty - here, like this,” Rick guided his legs by the backs of his thighs to circle his waist, pressed against the outside of his knees until Morty squeezed tight and crossed his feet behind his grandpa’s back and Rick groaned on a slow thrust. “Yeaaah, fuck, yeah, Morty. Hold onto me, c’mon.”

Morty did as he was told and wrapped his arms tighter around the back of Rick’s neck, and Rick dropped to press their chests together, press his face into Morty’s neck, slip his arms under Morty’s upper back and they’d never been this close before, embraced like this before and it -

It was _good_. Rick’s heated breath puffing over his throat, the hot sweat slicking between them, the way his feet slotted into the divots beneath the back of Rick’s ribcage and the slow in and out, in and out, in and out of Rick’s cock. It was so different from the quick and dirty fucks Morty was used to - Rick always made it pleasurable, even when he was rough, but this - whatever he was doing right now was on a different level. It wasn’t - they weren’t -

Rick wasn’t fucking him. Morty had been fucked plenty of times by Rick, and he knew this felt nothing like those times.

Rick was - Rick was -

Morty couldn’t finish the thought, so he just held on incautious, worked his hips in time with Rick’s thrusts, soaked in the sensations bombshelling through him. Rick noticed his participation and sighed in approval, kissed his neck, his cheek, his mouth and set about angling his thrusts in just such a way he had to swallow Morty’s breathy moans so the rest of the family didn't hear.

They cycled together in perfect tandem, Morty taking everything Rick was giving and Rick never seeming to run out of more to give. The cramped room fell away until there was nothing but him and Rick and the synchronicity of their bodies. Morty would hate himself for this later but right now all that mattered was how wanted Rick was making him feel, so he kissed back as best he knew how, ran his hands across Rick’s ropy shoulders, pulled him in with his legs and Rick gave back so much more than he got -

“There you go, ahh, _goddamn_ , fuck, fuck, _fuck_ you are precious -” Rick’s breath mingled with his own, his arms held him fast and Morty couldn’t think of anything beyond the indulgent affection his grandpa was showing him. He could feel the hot coil in the pit of his stomach that signaled his impending orgasm and from the way Rick was pistoning his hips, Morty could tell he was getting close, too.

Morty kissed his grandpa and nudged at his right arm until Rick got the idea and slid it between their bodies to fist Morty’s cock, fingers calloused and demanding and exactly what Morty needed to push him over the edge. He came quick with a cry, muscles tensing and ass clenching and Rick grunted, plunged in harder through the resistance of Morty’s trembling orgasm. Morty tossed his head back, tried to wiggle up higher on the cot to get away because if it was already too much before now it was plain impossible - but what did Rick ever care about impossible? Rick just shoved him back down by the shoulders and kept on going -

“So tight, Morty - like a vice when you come on my cock - sensitive now, huh?” Rick stroked his spent cock again and again and Morty shuddered and whined, clenched even harder at the pleasure-pain of overstimulation and Rick groaned, long and deep.

“R-Rick, please, just finish - ah, _ahhh_! I can’t - too much, _please_ , Rick.”

Rick landed a few more perfect thrusts that dragged bittersweetly over his prostate and grinned wolfishly when Morty’s breath hitched on the beginnings of a sob. “You want me to finish in you, baby?”

“Yeah, sure, just - just hurry up.”

Rick pressed in as deep as he could go, squeezed Morty’s cock and made a disapproving noise. “That’s - that’s no way to say yes.”

“ _Ahh_! Oh, fine, _okay_ \- _uhn_ \- yes, Rick, yes, I-I-I want youtocomeinme _please_ ,” Morty mumbled out the last part so quickly it came out in a jumble, but it must have been good enough for Rick because he growled, “That’s what I like to hear,” and switched his thrusts from slow and teasing to purposeful and rough, crushed Morty’s hips under his grip, focused on reaching his own orgasm.

It was all Morty could do to lie back and take it - and there was a lot to take. Rick was already well endowed, but he always felt even bigger inside him after Morty came; the involuntary contracting of his muscles made the fit even tighter, closer to untenable but Rick still made himself fit, again and again and again -

“Morty, Morty, Morty, ahhh fuck, baby, _fuck I love you_ -”

Rick’s voice was subvocal, his face buried in Morty’s neck so Morty more felt the words than heard them - but there was no mistaking it. Rick said - he said - but then Rick was gripping his hips so tight Morty felt the capillaries burst, coming inside him with a sound like he had just resurfaced from minutes underwater and Rick’s thrusts tapered off into sluggish and sated before stilling completely on an instroke - and Morty was distracted by the warm slippery wet full sensation and the need to catch his breath.

After a beat, Rick rubbed tenderly into his sore hips, slid his arms back under Morty’s upper back to hold him close, softly kiss at his neck as they came down. Morty unlocked his feet to let his legs fall open and Rick settled deeper into the cradle of his hips, languidly pushed his softening cock back through his own mess and chuckled when Morty writhed and sucked in air.

“Rick, please, no - no more,” Morty said, struggling against his grandpa’s grip to shift up the cot, mortified to find his cock twitching with interest at the sensation of come dribbling out of his ass, the slick stretched overused feeling that left his body tingly and supple. Rick just laughed and held him down effortlessly, slid his cock in and out and in again to make obscene squelching noises.

“You like it when I - _eurgh_ \- creampie you, huh, M-Morty?”

“Oh, _jeez_ ,” Morty covered his face with his hands and twisted his head away, but he couldn’t unsee his grandpa’s lecherous smirk and eyebrow wiggle. His face was going to catch on fire, he was sure. It was impossible to blush this hot and not spontaneously combust.

“You don’t have to say, I know you do. T-told you I’d make it good, Morty. You busted half - halfway up your chest and I barely touched you.”

“Do you really have to brag while you’re - you’re still in me?” Morty asked miserably, voice tiny and muffled by his hands, the last past nearly inaudible.

“Are you working on a half chub knowing I busted my load in you?”

“Rick, _please_!”

“That’s an abso-fuckin’-lutely.”

Rick was entirely too pleased with himself. He radiated smug serenity as he moved a hand down to where his cock was still sheathed in Morty, teased around the taut rim to smear his climax around. Morty gave a little aborted buck of his hips but otherwise kept still as Rick pushed at the limits of his stimulation, resigned himself to a little more harassment before this was over and he could sleep.

Rick slid his cock out but held Morty’s hole open with his fingers so it couldn’t contract, so Rick’s come spilled out messily and Morty shivered, knowing Rick was watching it with lazy satisfaction. Rick caught his ejaculate with a four fingered swipe up the cleft of Morty’s ass to mix it in idle patterns with the come on Morty’s stomach.

Morty braced himself for some appreciative digs and perverted gloating, determined to not react until Rick got bored, but instead there was a beat of heavy silence before he heard, “Do you - did you like it better this way, Morty?”

Wait, what? Morty dropped his hands from his face to eye Rick in confusion. Lazily satisfied, yes, but Rick was also staring contemplatively at their mixed seed as he traced his fingers through it. He looked up when he noticed Morty had opened his eyes again.

“You really - really got into it, this time. We - I could do it like this more - more often, Morty.”

There was a tacit implication in the suggestion, something thin-skinned and unguarded in the way Rick was looking at him that picked Morty’s heart up with realization.

Rick wanted more intimacy. He wanted something he couldn’t just take. Rick had always put emphasis on Morty’s pleasure, but not necessarily his enjoyment, and Morty was beginning to understand the two were as different as victory through cheating and victory through hard work. Rick was asking how he could make Morty enjoy this part of their relationship. If he could.

A little voice tried to remind him that Rick was most definitely manipulating him, using the rush of hormones that came with sex and his desperate need for his grandpa’s affection against him; he didn’t really have a choice but he couldn’t bring himself to care. The part of him that wanted to reject Rick was powerless in the exhausted afterglow.

“Yeah, Rick, I’d - I’d - you have to let me sleep, now, but I’d like that - y’know, later,” he said quietly. He took comfort in Rick’s smile, but only for a moment before he noticed the unwelcome sticky sensation of cooling ejaculate across his chest and between his legs. He pulled a face and looked over at the roll of paper towels Rick kept on his side table, top marked with oil stains from Rick’s oft greasy fingers but otherwise clean. He gestured to them and then down his body.

“Could you, um -”

“Yeah, sweetie.”

Rick grabbed the roll to rip a few off and set about wiping them both down. Morty had been asking Rick to hand them to him so he could clean himself, hadn’t been expecting Rick to do it for him, but now that he was Morty decided it was incredibly nice and he was not averse to it in the slightest. Rick was thorough and gentle, the hand that wasn’t holding the paper towels petting up and down Morty’s flank and tracing over the purple bruises flowering on his hips, delicate and subdued and focused, like there was nothing else in all the universes he wanted to do. Morty was unprepared for the show of consideration, so the wave of need hit hard, caught him flat-footed and unwary. What he needed, he couldn’t discern beyond just more, more of Rick’s regard, Rick’s tenderness - ‘baby, _fuck I love you_ ’ played on repeat in his head and something broke in his chest.

Tears slid silently from the corners of his eyes down into his hair, and just like before he barely noticed the tears at all, but there was no fraught humor this time. Rick tossed the used towels into the trash can at the foot of the cot when he was done and leaned back down to kiss Morty again, easy and warm, hushing him, holding him close.

“Hey, shh, shh. It’s okay. I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you.”

Morty wept at the disorienting blend of relief and terror that assurance brought him. He felt a simultaneous need to get closer and further away, but getting away hadn’t been an option since his mom had tearfully introduced him to his grandfather (disbelieving amazed nervous relieved overjoyed). He kissed back without coordination, invited Rick’s embrace without restraint, relished Rick’s weight on him because he was sure he’d float away without it.

“Please don’t leave, Rick, please don’t go,” he mumbled through the kiss, not even fully aware he was speaking at all. He just knew that he needed Rick to stay, that the thought of Rick brushing him off and stepping through a portal filled him with a dread so intense he flinched from it. He was broken-down tired, but he couldn’t fall asleep until he knew that Rick would be there when he woke up. Rick broke the kiss by two inches to speak.

“I’m - I’m not going anywhere, Morty. C’mon, let’s get dressed and go - shh, hey, shh,” he pulled Morty with him to sit up and Morty held fast around his neck, blood pounding in his head. Rick soothed him, carded through his hair, massaged up and down his back until Morty’s unease calmed down, until Morty was convinced he wasn’t going to dip out the first opportunity he got. Rick leaned down to pick up Morty’s yellow shirt from the floor, slid Morty half a foot away from him to pull it around his neck and Morty automatically put his arms through the holes. “Good, yeah - get dressed, Morty, and we’ll go - go watch TV. You can lay down on the couch, baby.”

Morty nodded, wiped at his face. Getting his clothes on sounded like a good idea. Lying down close to Rick sounded like a better one. “You’ll sit with me?”

Morty had no shame left to spare for how pitiful he sounded, how desperate for reassurance, and Rick for once didn’t take the opportunity to humiliate and insult him. Quite the opposite, Rick consoled him patiently, handled him with the care he normally reserved only for delicate experiments, kept his body language open and stroked Morty’s thigh.

“Yeah, I’ll sit with you. You can rest and I’ll wake you - I’ll get you up for dinner, okay, Morty?”

“You promise?”

Rick raised his hand like he was taking the oath to offer testimony before a court, and Morty nodded, shaky but convinced.

“Good - get your pants on and go out there first. I’ll be there in a minute,” Rick said, picked up his lab coat to rifle through its pockets, get out his flask and drain half of it in one go. If Morty hadn’t been knockout drowsy, he would have been able to appreciate the surreal wreck that was his life, watching his genius grandfather polish off a pint of supernova strong alcohol in his birthday suit after tapping his ass raw - and all he was worried about was whether Rick was going to watch TV with him in the living room or not. As it was, he was too tired to consider addiction and cycles of abuse and could only manage a snort at the absurdity of his situation. Rick caught his eye, offered out the flask with a shake just to chuckle when Morty grimaced and reached for his pants.

“Suit yourself, Morty. More for me.”

“It smells like that acid those porcupine things spit up, Rick. You can keep it,” Morty said as he buttoned his jeans - he forewent his socks and shoes, he’d just leave them under Rick’s cot for now.

“Might be - might - _urrp_ \- be a key ingredient. I can’t remember what I put in here last.”

Morty rolled his eyes and stood - but immediately had to put his hands on Rick’s shoulders to balance against a dizzy head-change. Rick steadied him by the waist with one hand, sipped leisurely from his flask in the other. Morty had the conflicting urges to push away and step closer, so he stayed where he was and waited out the spell, focused on the grounding way Rick’s fingers went under his shirt to touch his skin. Through the fog, Morty heard the front door open and shut, his mom setting her purse down and walking up the stairs above them. He listened to her receding footsteps, had the thought that if she was home, it was half past five; he and Rick had been at this for nearly two hours. Something about that cleared his head and he disentangled himself with a timid, “Thank you, Rick.”

Rick smirked, set his flask aside to be refilled and put his pants back on while singsonging, “Aaanytime, baby.”

Morty first checked if anyone would see him before he stepped out Rick’s door, and when he saw the coast was clear he beelined for the couch. He collapsed on it without turning on the TV and drifted off instantly, so that when Rick came to sit above him almost half an hour later it felt like only a second had passed. He stirred enough to mumble some groggy nonsense, thinking he should flip so his feet faced Rick, so he could curl up and give him more space, but his grandpa shushed him, set a couch pillow on his thigh and encouraged Morty to lie his head on it.

“Shh, y-you’re fine, Morty - I-I-I said I’d sit with you. Lie back down, go - go on, M-Morty.”

Rick sounded sloshed, but of the feeling-no-pain, pleasantly buzzed, no qualms to be had variety. It was Morty’s favorite kind of drunk on his grandpa, so he easily settled into the offered pillow and started to drift back off to the sound of Rick flipping through channels, the feel of Rick laying a hand on his head. The voices on the TV were far away and Rick was so close and it was _nice_ \- so, so _good_ to share this moment of contentment with him, to bask under his fond touch and Morty remembered Rick’s remark from earlier, its full meaning shifting into focus.

_‘- so I can fuck you til you pass out. Then we’ll see how well my - my ‘psychological manipulation association thing’ is working out -’_

A wan smile crossed Morty’s face. He found his helplessness a little funny at this point - of course he had fallen for the trick. Even when Rick flat out told him what he was doing, he was unable to resist any of it.

“All part of the master plan?” He mumbled, half-asleep but fuzzily perceptive, the kind of understanding that only clicked into place after it was too late to do anything about it. Rick paused his petting, but Morty pressed back up into his hand and Rick continued with an unapologetic chuckle.

“Yeah, baby. It working?”

Self-assured and amused, Rick stroked up and down his arm. He didn’t seem to care if he got an answer, seemed content to let Morty crash on him, let those be the last words between them for a while, but Morty nestled further into the pillow, brought a hand up to rest on his grandpa’s knee. He knew it was unhealthy and wrong ( _“- you’ve got what the intergalactic call a very planetary mindset -”_ ) that he was being manipulated, but he figured he was going to be manipulated by this man whether he fought it or not. So why not encourage the type he preferred?

“Well... honey’s better than vinegar, Rick.”

Rick conceded that point with a little noise of agreement, moved his hand to pet Morty’s back, clicked the volume up a few times on the TV.

And Morty fell into the most restful sleep he had had in weeks.

…

After changing out of her scrubs and into more comfortable house-clothes, Beth walked down the stairs, mind set on fixing something quick for dinner and pouring herself a glass of wine (or three) but the sight in the living room caught her attention before she made it to the kitchen.

There was her son, curled up asleep, head laid on a pillow propped up by her dad’s thigh. Her dad was leaning his own head on his hand, elbow on the armrest as he absentmindedly flipped through the interdimensional cable channels. But the part that had Beth’s heart in her throat was how her dad’s other hand was resting comfortably on Morty’s back, thumb running in quiet circles, how Morty’s hand laid peacefully on her dad’s knee.

Something was so sincerely sweet about it, she was certain no one was supposed to see. She felt as if she had walked in on a private moment, knew that if she said anything her dad would cross his arms over his chest and shift his thigh until Morty moved, so she kept her reaction to herself and silently made her way to the kitchen.

By the time she was heating water on the stove and sipping her second glass of wine, Jerry came in through the kitchen door to ask her how her day at work had been, if there was anything he could do to help with dinner.

“Work was good, honey, thank you for asking. Would you mind peeling some potatoes? I’ll mash them.”

Jerry cleared a space on the counter and set about preparing the potatoes while Beth put up the dishes from the dishwasher. It was companionable and easy, the possibility of an argument felt miles away and while Jerry cherished moments like this, he wondered where all the good vibes were coming from.

“Hey, what’s got you in such a good mood?” Jerry asked, light and curious, hoping he didn’t come off sounding suspicious and ruin the pleasant atmosphere. Beth considered him for a second before she put a finger to her mouth in the shush gesture, took him by the arm to the doorway that led to the living room and pointed at the couch.

Rick was dozing off now, leaning heavily on his hand as some strange show about talking meatballs and giant umbrellas played on the TV. Morty had stretched out some, his head turned so it was half on the pillow on Rick’s thigh and half on Rick’s hip. Rick’s hand splayed out across their son’s side, rising and falling with his even breathing.

Beth pulled Jerry back to the kitchen counter and smiled at him. “You can’t tell me that’s not cute.”

Jerry looked indecisive, waffling between his dislike for Rick and his love for his wife, but Beth was so happy, so proud she nearly had tears in her eyes. He couldn’t stand to disagree with her and watch those eyes switch to a glare, that mouth twist into a frown. He yielded, returned her smile with an affectionate one.

“I guess I can’t.”

They made dinner together, and made love that night. Arguments sat on the backburner for once and Jerry knew that he would put up with Rick and his eccentricities for the rest of his life if that’s what it took to keep this woman by his side.

And he really couldn’t deny it.

It _was_ pretty cute.

**Author's Note:**

> You guys, I wrote pretty much all of this sitting in bed in my Rick and Morty jim-jams. 
> 
> And I had a blast. 
> 
> Even if all of this is indulgent trash... 
> 
> It was so fucking worth it for that creampie line. 
> 
> Welp, if you're of a mind to, I'd love to know what you thought of this. Weak sauce? Ghost pepper hot? Milquetoast white guilt piece of human garbage? I'm open to all shades of feedback, ya'll. Always looking to improve my writing, and a huge part of that is getting criticism. I'm grateful for any time and energy you're willing to put in towards helping me write better abusive incestuous erotica.
> 
> ... Good thing I'm Going to Hell is a tag. Now I can see the company I'll be in when I get there. 
> 
> Looks like we'll have plenty to talk about.
> 
> Signing off,
> 
> firstbornking


End file.
